Off Track: An Off Series Novella

by Glen Robins

  “Four months later, my boss brought me into his office again and gave me another promotion, this time to Bell Captain. My wages doubled again. I was making twelve dollars a day, plus tips. Some days I would make another five or ten dollars in tips. The more money I made, the more it spurred my desire to earn as much as I could. I found myself waking before the sun and motoring out beyond the harbor to catch more fish. Some days, I earned as much with my fish as I did with my job. And I loved it more.

  “Soon, I bought a bigger, better fishing boat and asked some friends if they wanted to join me. The boat was old and slow, but four men could fish from it at the same time. We split the earnings, with a double portion for me because I owned the boat. My friends would fish all day because they lacked jobs and ambition but loved to fish. They paid me rent to use my boat while I was working.

  “This went on for two years. At the end of those two years, I quit working at the hotel. I decided I liked being on the water much better than wearing a monkey suit, a silly hat, and carrying luggage around for people who barely noticed I existed, let alone showed any gratitude beyond the dollar bills they rolled up and smashed into my hands. I never complained, but I never stopped longing for the freedom of the open sea.

  “The day I quit was the day I walked to the marina and paid cash for the boat I had kept my eyes on for most of those two years. It was not beautiful. But it was big enough to carry half a dozen people. I was able to clean it up and equip it with everything a boat captain could want or need: things like radar, GPS, and the all-important fish finder—an electronic device that shows what lies beneath the boat in all directions, thus making it easy to see where the schools are.

  “Soon people noticed, especially the tourists. They saw me and my friends return each day with fish, lots and lots of fish. Of course, they wanted to know where I went and what I used to catch them. They wanted every detail. But I was too smart to just tell them. Instead, I offered to take them with me—for a fee, of course. As my reputation grew, so did my fee. As my fees grew, so did my ambitions. It did not take me long before I had my eye on a bigger, nicer boat.

  “Four years after opening my charter fishing service, I bought a larger boat, one aimed at carrying not just more passengers, but a higher caliber of passenger. This one was forty-two feet long with powerful twin turbo diesel engines that growled like panthers. The sound alone attracted attention. It was well-appointed on the inside, too. Everything a wealthy wannabe sportfisherman might need. We could entertain in comfort and style.

  “I continued to rent out my other fishing boat to my first mate and he continued serving the mid-range clients. We formed a partnership and he paid me a portion of the profits each month. Life was good. I was happy.

  “And yet, I did not feel fulfilled. Something was missing and I had to find it.”

  Chapter Two

  Twenty-Five Years Before Meeting Collin Cook

  Cayman Islands

  At this point in the story, Rob and Lukas look at each other, then at me. Rob smiles. Lukas looks down at his hands. His fingers are steepled as his elbows rest on his knees.

  “Sounds like your career was going well by this time,” says Rob. “Just didn’t have someone to share it with, am I right?”

  I nod, answering in the affirmative without saying a word.

  “I can relate to that. Sounds like the spot where I am in my life,” he says, looking absently at the horizon.

  Lukas says nothing, just gets a pensive look in his clear blue eyes.

  The sun has set. A gentle breeze has kicked up. Faint tinkling noises from the shoreline restaurants and bars are carried across the water to where we sit, still huddled around the lounge on my new boat.

  I hesitate for a moment, not sure whether to proceed.

  Lukas looks up at me. “Go ahead, please. I’m interested to hear about how you found what was missing.”

  I stand and reach for a switch. I flip it and the deck lights come on, bathing us and the topside of the boat in a warm yellow glow. The lights are obfuscated behind bulkheads and under railings, thus creating an ambient pool of light that resembles a golden bubble around us.

  Before I sit, I lean on the console next to me and resume my narrative. “At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, another dream came true. That dream went by the name of Clarissa. Tall and elegant, intelligent and composed, she stole my heart.”

  “I knew it,” says Rob. “You fell in love, didn’t you?”

  His boyish charm brings a smile to my face. “The first time I saw her, I knew I wanted to marry her. It was the oddest thing. I don’t consider myself that type of person. I’m not rash or whimsical, nor am I a daydreamer. I never thought I was particularly romantic, either. Love at first sight was not something I had ever conceived of, but I did it anyhow.

  “In retrospect, our initial encounter must have seemed very ordinary to her. To me, however, it was unforgettable. Clarissa worked in the office at the fish processing plant where I sold my catch each day. It was evening, nearing dusk. My catch for the day had been weighed and I approached the window where I turned in my ticket to receive my payment. That’s when I saw her. She wore a yellow blouse, the kind that allowed her ebony skin underneath to shine through. I wore an old T-shirt that must have smelled of saltwater and fish and a ratty old hat stained by over-usage and bleached by the sun. As memorable as she was, I was equally unremarkable, I’m sure.

  “During that first encounter, her eyes continually danced, and her smile electrified the air around me and the blood within me. I had never felt a jolt like that, not in my entire life. I tried to play it cool, but I’m sure I failed miserably, as evidenced by the way her amused smile continued to radiate. I stumbled over my words, no doubt looking a fool. She patiently waited for me to regain myself, which I did, but just barely.

  “At the conclusion of our transaction, I said with all the boldness I possessed, ‘Can I see you again tomorrow?’

  “She grinned and said, ‘Sure, if you have some fish for me to purchase.’

  “I had never needed much motivation to fish, but this was the kind of extra incentive that drives a man to do great things. Wanting to see her consumed my every thought every day and I worked hard to make sure I had a catch to sell just so I could see her.

  “She possessed an air of mystery and enchantment. The fact that I was a boat captain and owned one of the finest vessels in George Town Harbor looking like I did must have intrigued her. ‘That’s your boat?’ she said during our third transaction. My Sweet Serenade, as she was called, was moored at the end of the dock. She shone in the sunlight and stood out, proud and powerful, from the other boats on the fisherman’s wharf.

  “I didn’t bother to turn. I just studied the ticket in my hand. ‘The one on the far end is, yes,’ I said as casually as I could.

  “‘That fine thing is yours?’” she asked. You should have seen the look on her face when she asked. Eyes open wide, jaw hanging down.”

  This makes Lukas and Rob chuckle. Myself, as well.

  “‘Don’t sound so incredulous,’ I said. ‘I come from a long line of fisherman. We take pride in some things, you know?’”

  “‘I never would have figured…’” I used my falsetto whenever I quoted what she said. The boys got a kick out of my imitation, too.

  “‘Ouch,’ I said. ‘What do you take me for, some sort of urchin?’”

  “She raised her eyebrows. ‘Not anymore, I don’t.’”

  Rob smiled and elbowed Lukas in the ribs. “Veritable ladies’ man, this Captain Sewell.”

  I pretended not to hear and kept talking. “‘Would you like a ride?’ I asked.

  “‘I don’t want to be a bother.’

  “‘It would be no trouble at all,’ I told her. ‘I would be glad to.’

  “This, my friends, should have been a signal to me.” I wag my finger in the air. “This beautiful woman was surprised that a man with a fine vessel would want to take her for a ride on it.

&
nbsp; “In any case, I was aching to spend time with her, so we arranged to meet the next morning. I gave my crew the day off with pay. It seemed a steep price, but for her I would have done anything.

  “That first day together on the sea was magical. Sunshine sparkling on the waves, a light breeze, puffy clouds floating through caerulean skies—how could it have been any better? I thought I had found my paradise. Her smile was warm like the sun, her laughter as sweet as the song of island birds. That feeling of being in command of my destiny with her at my side was truly intoxicating.

  “I spent the next eight months working and saving and doing everything I knew how to do to impress that girl. She was always graceful and coy; and always subdued in her responses. I sensed a sort of brooding under the surface, but she never opened up about it and always dismissed my questions. Because of her laconic demeanor, I found myself hopelessly out of balance. I could never read her, and I think she liked it that way.

  “Despite my uncertainties, one day I mustered every ounce of my courage and went to one knee and proposed marriage with a simple gold ring adorned with a tiny solitary round diamond. Like her, it was elegant and understated. She smiled shyly and accepted the ring without the type of celebration I had hoped for, the kind seen in the movies.

  “I was disappointed in her muted response but elated that she said ‘yes.’

  “Our wedding took place on my boat. I realize now that it was my dream, not hers. It was a modest ceremony, beautiful in its simplicity. We set sail that evening after a short reception with a few of our mutual friends and family members.

  “The honeymoon lasted two weeks on board my magnificent boat with my gorgeous wife. I took pride and found joy in both of my beauties and traveling alone with the woman I loved. Though she smiled often, there was much less laughter as the second week progressed. We toured through many of the islands of the eastern Caribbean, mooring in small harbors overnight and exploring the small towns by day. We ate local cuisine, walked on picturesque beaches, and sipped wine from all over the world. But, alas, she seemed to long for something else. I could not put my finger on it, and she would never divulge to me what was missing; I just knew something was.

  “When the honeymoon ended, we returned to George Town and began living a quiet life. We both continued to work, saving every dime we could to add another boat to my fleet. Our conversations grew shorter and less frequent as the look in her eyes grew forlorn and wistful. I felt her slipping away and myself powerless to pull her back in.

  “But alas, one day during the second year of our marriage, I returned home one evening to find my Clarissa clutching the counter in the kitchen, looking as if she had seen a ghost.

  “‘What is wrong, my love?’ I asked.

  “She shook her head slowly, averting her eyes as if ashamed. She simply tipped her head toward an odd-shaped white stick on the counter. It was one of those pregnancy test things, you know? The one with the plus sign in the little box at the end of the wand?”

  Rob and Lukas gave me blank looks. They didn’t know. They had no experience in these things.

  “Anyway,” I said, shaking my head in mock disgust. “She was with child. I was elated, nearly overjoyed There was no joy in her expression, no gleam in her eyes, no excitement in her announcement. I tried my best to instill my happiness into her. I hugged her tight, wanting my joy to transfer from my heart to hers.

  “To me, this was the best news ever. I felt a surge of hope as I swept her up in my arms and twirled her about. ‘Our child is going to be beautiful and smart, just like her mother,’ I exclaimed. ‘I hope it’s a girl. I want her to be like you.’ The contagion of my enthusiasm was fleeting. A smile cracked her face, but only for a moment. Her eyes danced, then fell to the floor. I asked why she was not thrilled, but she revealed nothing.”

  I sit back down, leaning against my knees, looking at my shoes. My guests remain respectfully silent, waiting for me to finish.

  “I thought, mistakenly, that the anticipation would bring her out of her slump and return the glow to her soul. But again, I was disappointed. Against my hopes, her joy did not grow like her belly. Although I was eager to become a father, she did not share the same sentiments about becoming a mother. What should have been a joyous time in our lives, full of celebration and anticipation, turned out to be yet another wedge that divided us.

  “During the pregnancy, I was attentive to her every need, yet she remained aloof. During labor, I was at her side every moment, yet she felt so distant. After our son’s arrival, I wanted to feel close to her, to rally together to support and sustain this new life that we had created. I wanted us to finally meld as a team, a family. Yet, despite my excitement, enthusiasm, and pride, she withdrew into herself. No amount of energy I expended on her changed the ebb in her emotions. The tide was out, perhaps permanently, as I supposed.

  “After our son’s birth, the situation grew more extreme. I was a simple man, born and raised in humble circumstances, with little formal education and virtually no knowledge of women’s health issues. I was oblivious to the concept of postpartum depression. But I had purchased my first computer and even though the dial-up connection took a very long time to send and retrieve information from the Internet, I spent my free time researching.”

  I grow animated during my telling of this part of the story. I do not want my emotions to take over, so I speak quickly and gesture with my hands to hold it back.

  “I read like I had never read before, looking for answers to the problems that vexed me. I borrowed books from the library and learned things about a woman’s hormones and how they change during pregnancy. I learned strategies to cope. I learned about psychology and physiology and techniques to improve mental health. None of that mattered. None of it penetrated the thick fog that enveloped her and kept me searching, stumbling, and feeling lost.

  “Over the course of time, I deduced Clarissa’s symptoms and, full of pride in my newly acquired knowledge, I presented my findings to my ailing wife. ‘My dear,’ I started tenderly. ‘I have been doing some research on the computer. There are doctors on the Internet that deduce certain illnesses and help you find remedies. So, I put in your symptoms and it told me that you might have what they call post-partum depression. It’s when a woman is so sad after childbirth that she has no energy and no interest in the kinds of things that she used to be interested in. Doesn’t that sound like what is happening with you?’

  “Instead of appreciation for my efforts, she glared at me and turned away.

  “So, of course, I continued, thinking that I hadn’t explained well enough and she just needed more information in order to come to the same conclusion I had come to with the help of the Internet. ‘There are some medicines we can look into. What do you think? Shall we go see the doctor about it?’

  “Prior to this moment, I had only heard the expression, ‘If looks could kill.’ I had never actually seen a look that might end my life until I made that suggestion. Without a word, she made me wish I had never spoken the words I had spoken.

  “The only thing she uttered was completely soul-crushing: ‘You did this to me.’

  “Like an airplane with a hole in its roof, my hopes were sucked out of me. I felt deprived of oxygen—unable to respond, unable to think, unable to rescue our flailing love. Everything I had learned was rendered useless. She didn’t want to live the life I wanted to live, and she didn’t want any help from anyone, especially me.

  “After this incident, our home grew even more silent, which only caused the situation to worsen. Tension crackled in the air like electricity in a wire. Due to her inattentiveness, I could not leave the boy alone with her. My work suffered and our income plummeted, but he needed love and caring, and she was in no state to provide it.

  “The Internet and some helpful ladies at the clinic taught me how to feed the baby from a bottle with the right kind of formula. The nurses taught me to change diapers and care for diaper rash. It was an education for a man like me w
ho had no hands-on experience with babies. That was a woman’s job, and I was not a woman. I had watched my mother with my younger siblings, but I had never paid much attention.

  “All I knew was that I loved my child and felt a strong need to care for him.

  “Because Clarissa was unable to look after our son, I could not provide service to my clients. How could I be on the ocean all day and leave him with a mother who was so completely withdrawn? My crew did what they could, but they were not businessmen graced in the art of selling and entertaining. They were sailors.

  “As the income dried up, I had a choice to make. I could either keep the apartment or keep my boat. To me, the choice was obvious. To Clarissa, the choice was terminal. The day I began selling our things and moving onto the boat is the last day I saw her. When I returned from taking a load, she was gone. No note, no explanation. Just gone.

  “I heard later that she had moved to Jamaica to live with her cousin. I tried to visit and was told she was not there. The cousin explained that she was with a different cousin who lived in Barbados. The next time I was near Barbados, I attempted to make contact. I was rebuffed by the cousin and told that I was crazy. That response answered neither of my questions: Was she there and was she all right?

  “With heavy heart, I returned to Blossom Village to beg help from my poor parents. They gracefully took in my son, who was six months old at that point, and promised to love him. I promised to provide financial support and visit often. I did so until the end.

  “The end came too soon. My son was four years old when he disappeared. My aging parents were in the house taking their afternoon nap. My son awoke before they did. He left the front door open and footprints in the dirt near the house and on the path to the sea. They tell me he often went to the shore to look for me. His footprints ended where the rocks began. We can only suppose what happened.”